


Temptation Waits

by Billywick



Series: Transformers various Roleplay Fiction [6]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 16:03:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5169926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Billywick/pseuds/Billywick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Pharma wanted to do was keep his staff and reputation intact. How could he have known that he had struck a deal with a pit-spawned devil? </p><p>Tarn is an exceptional conversationalist, with or without his deadly talents. [A little sample of how we envision the Delphi deal to be. I am truly terrible at summaries]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Temptation Waits

It was freezing cold.  
The heating was on, sure, but Messatine’s atmosphere had decided to bless them with a blizzard of epic proportions.

Pharma found himself to be the last one yet again to leave medbay. He had been dutifully checking up some reports, noting down the mine accidents for the part orn in perfect detail in his smooth, tiny, well-presentable but entirely unreadable handwriting, examined their current patients again (three miners that had various frostbites) and was now on his way to his private quarters to read up on some scientific highlights.

Medbay was where the most heating was channeled to, a fact you only realized once you went outside into the corridors.  
Pharma shivered and canted his wings against his vents, hoping to not freeze the sensitive ailerons on his way.

He had pinged First Aid for his shift to start and handed over command to the nurse, for now, but never really, when they met at the exit of the medical ward.  
Even though Ambulon had offered to take up the shift, Pharma didn’t trust the former Decepticon. Granted, he was a good nurse, but still Decepticon scum that didn’t deserve Pharma’s praise or goodwill.

In fact, he didn’t even like handing over command to First Aid, he was only a nurse anyway and if someone should have command, it was certainly not him, it would always be Pharma.

But enough of that, he would annoy himself rusty if he kept thinking about it. Delphi had been a mess that he, Pharma, had sorted out and even though Messatine was the most horrible place to ever have a station on (and he still cursed Autobot High Command for ever offering this to him), Pharma still was its chief medical officer.

When he finally got to his room, his ailerons did hurt and he spent a good decacycle of rubbing them before they started feeling normal again.

Originally, he had intended to have a quick shower to warm his frame, but apparently, the heating had gone out for the cleaning fluid again.  
Pharma found his mood rapidly souring as he laid down on his berth and went through the articles stored on his datapad.

Most of them weren’t even good science, that was quite evident and only furthered his annoyance, but then he got stuck on an article about t-cog transplants and found his own works quoted in it even!

Pharma savoured it by pouring himself a tiny bit of his quadruple-distilled and reading everything from the beginning (it was basically just a repetition of his findings), but right before he got to the good part, his comm rang.

He cursed under his breath - hopefully not another miner frozen to another yet again - and got up.

Pharma’s room wasn’t too big so he found himself at his desk sooner than he would have liked. He frowned as he saw the comm blinking yellow instead of white for his nurses, red for the miners and blue for Autobot High Command or any derivation thereof.

Yellow meant incoming call from an unknown source.

Pharma shifted and decided to sit down on his desk, straighten himself up a bit, wings spread lightly to emphasize the fact that yes, he was a flightframe and accepted the call.

“You are speaking to the Chief Medical Officer of Delphi, Pharma”, he introduced himself to the still dark cube, optics focused on it with interest and barely notable annoyance, “What can I do for you?”

“Good evening, doctor.”

The voice was new and smooth and deeply disturbing. The comm line established itself with the speed and security that suggested planetary proximity, or extremely capable equipment with long range sensors to penetrate the blizzard raging across Messatine, freezing bots in their tracks.

“I hope I’m not disturbing your rest. I am Tarn, of the Decepticon Justice Division.”

He allowed the recipient of the call a moment to let that sink in. Sometimes they cried, sometimes they screeched with fear, and some just looked upon him in solemn horror, knowing what he was capable of. 

Pharma did none of these things.  
His spark sunk and his tanks did a weird lurch - he had heard of these bots’ reputation before, though he doubted there was anything he had done to get on their infamous list.  
Being an intelligent bot forged into his mediframe that knew how to analyze situations logically, Pharma managed to not let his expression betray any emotions.

He did look at Tarn’s faceplate - or rather, the mask resembling the Decepticon badge he was famous for wearing at all times.

Messatine was DJD territory, they had informed him about this, but had told him they weren’t interested in the icy place anyway and mostly away to hunt the bots on their list.

And now, Tarn personally was calling him. With a surprisingly melodic, pleasant voice and for Decepticon Scum rather eloquent wording.

Pharma realized he hadn’t answered yet and brought himself to form words. He wouldn’t cower in fear in front of this mongrel, he was Delphi’s CMO, responsible for all the lives here and he would make a worthy impression! He held his straight posture and raised his glass quadruple-distilled to his lips, taking a little sip.

Slowly, he replied then,  
“I wonder why you would be calling me instead of simply waltzing this outpost into the ground?”

“To keep matters civil, doctor. This can be remedied at any time. Your facility has poor insulation and even poorer shielding, as is typical of Autobot engineering. Finding you was a matter of kliks and erasing your existence from this planet would only take a few more. However, I find myself in a unique position.”

Tarn kept his tone pleasant and level, even though it was absolutely laden with threat. And none of it was an exaggeration in the slightest. The DJD earned their terrifying reputation by all means.

“I believe you may wish to make a proposition to me, because you, doctor, have a unique and singular opportunity to barter for the lives of those under your care.”

Even though Tarn’s tone was pleasant and calm, Pharma understood quickly that the DJD commander was about to blackmail him into something.

He bristled, not visibly yet, but it boiled under the surface, his hate for all of them and especially imbeciles like this Tarn, who thought their filthy armaments and beastly looks would make every Autobot shiver in fear.

Barter for the lives of those under your care.

Pharma didn’t know how thoroughly he had been researched on, but the DJD commander had sadly hit a nervous node with that.  
Delphi was his station, his to care about, his to control and to maintain order in. 

 

And he wasn’t dumb or presumptuous enough to think Autobot High Command would react fast enough (or even at all!) to prevent the complete annihilation of it. 

It was on him alone, his own survival and that of Delphi and all of its inhabitants.

He braced himself for the answer to be the most horrifying thing he had ever heard and asked,  
“... what do I have to offer that you would be interested in?”

The good doctor did not disappoint. Tarn approved of the dutiful acceptance of what was very much blackmail. Any leader entitled to having subordinates needed to be aware of what it meant to keep the very same in line and safe.

Granted, he never needed to do so because no bot in the universe would dare turn on his subordinates and hope for survival.  
“There is no need to make this unpleasant, CMO Pharma. You happen to have a reputation for remarkably successful t-cog transplants. This is of some interest to me.  
You are very much in luck; I don’t demand Autobot secrets or truly traitorous acts from you. Just a surgical procedure you are well familiar with.”

Pharma managed to keep himself from frowning just marginally.  
A T-cog transplant?  
This Tarn had done his homework, it appeared, Pharma did have some splendid publications about the excision and preservation of T-cogs. But those were only of interest and understandable to academical minds, there was no way he would have found it out by himself… Perhaps he had just questioned someone else who had recommended Pharma, yes, that must have been it.

“You wish for me to transplant a T-cog? And how would this procedure go about?”

He had the slight idea that Tarn would not be dumb enough to demand the treatment to go about in Delphi or that he would use really any way that caused a ruckus. If he called him privately like that, he most likely would value continued secrecy. Something that made it definitely easier for Pharma.

“Very simply, doctor. You will be retiring from your shift on a set date, after which you will extract yourself from your facility and head to the coordinates given to you. Of course, you will provide a suitable replacement cog preserved in prime condition.”

Pharma could really consider himself lucky that Tarn was personally invested in this matter. A transplant was not the hardest procedure in the world, but if there was an expert in the field at hand, practically on his snowy doorstep, Tarn was not going to ignore the opportunity.

He visibly leaned back, bringing a straw briefly into the hologram of himself projected for Pharma.

Only Tarn could look unnerving when sucking engex through a straw.

“You’ll perform the operation and be returned to your facility. Simple, hm?”

Pharma’s processor was racing as he followed the steps and already busied himself with the way he would leave the facility without being seen or worse, personally confronted about it.

He did have T-cogs, luckily, he collected them for study reasons and currently researched on the topic of long-term preservation.

One more or less wouldn’t be a problem. If that meant, Delphi was being left alone, under his control then it was definitely all worth it.

“I don’t see myself having that much of a choice, regrettably. The security of my facility is always my highest concern, you did well in bringing that up.”  
Pharma looked at the straw, slight disgust in his optics. How could someone drink engex, triple-distilled as far as he could see, with a straw! That was borderline blasphemy!

“Send the coordinates to my personal ID, which you, no doubt, already possess.”

“Indeed. Contacting you through more open channels would have been quite the spectacle. Which we are happy to avoid, doctor. I look forward to witnessing your work and seeing whether or not you live up to your written theory.”

Tarn ended the transmission then, courtesy having been addressed enough alongside his clear threat. This was probably going to be a rather simple arrangement and he did look forward to watching the doctor work.

Especially because Tarn was his patient, a fact he did not specify on purpose. First, he’d have to carefully analyze this Pharma and see what kind of bot he truly was.

Only when the screen was black, Pharma realized his fingers had been holding onto the desk’s edge in a vice-like grip.  
Without thinking further, he poured himself a large portion of his quadruple-distilled and downed it in one go.

The familiar burn of the alcohol managed to calm him down a little, but still - this was madness.  
Realization trickled into him slowly.

He had made a deal with the DJD, more even, he was going to see them, perform surgery on one of them, keeping them functional so they could continue to go on their fanatic rampage..

Even if he wouldn’t go now, even then, Tarn would have enough material of him agreeing to it to blackmail him into it easily.

Pharma leaned back in his chair and forced himself to ventilate slowly.

At the baseline of it all, he had no choice now. Not that he had ever had one to begin with if he wanted to survive and he did want to survive, but now…

The only thing he could do was to follow instructions.

-x-

And following instructions he did.  
Pharma had slept horribly the past nightcycles, drowned himself in work to not be alone in his quarters and maybe get another terrifying monster to call him and blackmail him into something.  
Luckily, when the coordinates were transmitted to him, Pharma hadn’t been performing life-keeping surgery, but merely signing protocols.  
He had jumped, then looked around to check if anyone had noticed and had quickly stored the coordinates away.

After his shift, he did as usual, highly aware of performing every little action exactly the way he normally did, then went to his quarters, allowed himself to take a shower to calm down which helped exactly nothing, sat down, got up, sat down again and waited. A decacycle before the time that had been given to him, he left his quarters again, strode down the main corridor, turned right into a side corridor and hurried to the lower levels of the facility.

Outside, the blizzard-turned-snowstorm howled and it was icy cold down here, but Pharma was nervous enough to not care for now. He held onto the medikit he had taken from one of the siderooms - stored there earlier together with its precious cargo, the preserved T-cog - and pulled one of the self-heating, long coats around his frame before opening the door and stepping out into the snow.

The storm did a good job of hiding him from any sensors. The coordinates that he had been transmitted earlier lead into the middle of nowhere, a canyon buried in layers of ice and snow, far from Delphi and far beyond the ‘safe’ perimeter established by Autobot security around the mines.

No one and nothing was there to greet him and Pharma had to wait a long time for anything to happen.

By the time the tracing teleportation beam illuminated the snow, Pharma was absolutely covered in three feet of it from every angle.

The Peaceful Tyranny was heated to indulgence, engines providing more than enough power to heat an installation the size of Delphi itself, mining operation and medical station combined.

Tarn was not in the teleporting bay. Instead, Kaon’s empty optics were the first to meet the Decepticon Justice Division’s newest business partner.

The first thing Pharma noticed was the pleasant heating inside of the ship (it must be a ship, right?).  
He made an effort to peel himself out of the insulating coat and the snowlayers on it, even though when he saw who was facing him, he’d rather wrap himself back inside.

How did the bot even see him? Could he even see anything with no optics?  
Kaon stared at him without restriction or the courtesy of looking away once you got caught staring.

Pharma quickly scanned him up and down, knowing the stories about the DJD members full well - all of them were supposed to be various sorts of torture instruments or weapons.  
He didn’t even know the bot’s name and it didn’t matter, really.  
Pharma pulled himself together. He was here because of a reason, Tarn wouldn’t have bothered to call him if he didn’t really need someone to get a new T-cog, right?

The jetformer stuck his nose a little higher up in the air and stepped forward, holding out the medikit.  
“As agreed on with your commander, I am here to perform the T-cog transplant.”

Kaon regarded him silently for a full minute, as if ascertaining whether or not Pharma really needed to be entirely intact to perform such a surgery. 

Something beside him growled, slithering forward, investigating the newly boarded bot with a pointed nose and sharp, sharp fangs.

The Pet gave an even deeper growl, clearly disapproving of the scent given off the doctor’s flawless metal.

“Commander Tarn is awaiting you. Offline your optics.” 

Kaon held out a device that would cover Pharma’s helm almost entirely, not unlike Vos’ face, except with less spikes and invasive cables. This was just a measure to keep the good doctor from seeing the inner workings of the Tyranny.

Pharma almost flinched at the growling noise, blue optics darting around until he found the source for it. A turbofox… no, a turbofox sparkeater crept around the optic-less mech. Its mere appearance had Pharma shudder inwardly, but he made an effort to keep a straight face.

When Kaon held up the device to cover his helm, Pharma wanted to protest, he really did, but then there was the sparkeater and the creepy DJD member and he decided maybe it would be good if he actually saw as little of everything as possible.

Gingerly, he plucked the device out of Kaon’s hand and put it on his helm.

Darkness surrounded him and would surround him further. Kaon made no effort to tell him to follow him or lead him in some form, he just left -Pharma could hear his steps on the metal floor.  
Hastily, he followed after, stumbling a little here and there to keep up, but he managed mostly.

Pharma was incredibly aware of the noises surrounding him. There was a certain thrum to the environment that proved his theory of being on a ship to be right. Other than that, there were no sounds Pharma could identify and it creeped him out.  
Decepticon technology was well-known to be on par, if not superior to the Autobot pendant, but Pharma was not familiar with any of it.

At some point, Kaon’s footsteps stopped.

Kaon made no effort to guide the medic, expecting him to follow and he did. The other DJD members were scattered to their stations and areas of padwork, although all of them had been curious to see this new business partner. But Tarn’s orders would never be questioned and so it had been only the keeper of the most feared list in all of Cybertronian history to greet the medic and take him to the Tyranny’s own medical station.

It wasn’t even kitted out in white, preferring to keep everything a dark hue nearly indistinguishable from the leader of the DJD himself, who stood by a broad slab silently until Kaon thrust a servo at Pharma’s chest to stop him and then removed his helm cover.

“CMO Pharma.” Tarn’s voice had an entirely thorough effect in person, even without modulating his frequency.

Pharma was clinging to his medikit and he was glad for it. He wouldn’t have known where to put his servos when he was faced with the enormous frame of Tarn.

The sound of his voice was different now, he noticed it immediately, it was as if the very air around him and even in his ventilation system vibrated with its low, melodic tone.

Then again, Pharma wasn’t here for fun or to cower in front of them. He was here for business, to keep his facility safe.

He managed to straighten up and unclench his hands on the medikit. His optics wandered up and down Tarn’s frame with the competent eye of a well-versed medic.

The slight flux in lighting on Tarn’s abdominal biolights on his right side was probably the most obvious hint, but also the way he leaned slightly towards his left, keeping his weight more on his left leg, even though he clearly was a right-side-mech what with the double fusion cannon mounted on his right arm.  
Then, the way his joints looked patchy, the telltale sign of ageing hydraulic fluids… It was too easy almost.

“You never mentioned it was you in need for a transplant”, Pharma offered nonchalantly, “Not that it changes anything, of course. Please, allow me a thorough diagnosis.”  
He gestured in direction of the slab, proud with himself and his way of dealing with the situation professionally.

Tarn was more than equipped to handle a confident, competent bot such as Pharma. It was refreshing not to be cowered away from, even though a smart bot would know that this close to Tarn, they were completely at his mercy.

But Pharma was proud of himself, wings perked just a little too stiffly to be entirely comfortable. Pharma would not cower, but he did want to get this over with as swiftly as the procedure permitted.

An understandable impulse.

Tarn got onto the slab after dismissing Kaon with a nod. He knew very well what his communications chief did and did not see.

“There was no sense in revealing the nature of my personal predicament. It would have given you needless hope for leverage, which you do not possess. Show me the t-cog you brought. I will not have you install sub-par equipment into me, doctor.”

Pharma felt insulted, which was a ridiculous notion altogether, given the fact that he was utterly at Tarn’s mercy here and insult would probably be the least problematic thing Tarn could do to him here.

Fanning his wings slightly, frame giving in to the need to bristle at least a little, the medic raised the medikit and sat it down on a nearby surface. He said nothing, instead opened it and produced the well-insulated box from it marked neatly with the universal sign for organ transplant material.

Pharma entered a little code, then the box opened, steam raising from it from the coolant inside that Pharma had developed specifically for conserving T-cogs.

He realized too late that he was offering the ideal position for Tarn to loom over him and look at it.

Which Tarn did very promptly. As soon as he had seen the careful containment of the cog, he grew interested. The last time he replaced his t-cog, it had been the work of a terrified Decepticon medic who was afraid one slip would end him on the list, coincidentally where he colleague and organ donor had been before the DJD came to collect. That was two stellar cycles ago. 

This cog had burned out long ago and it had caused Tarn endless annoyance to be suffering pain every time he transformed.

But this beauty that Pharma unveiled had his spark hum with desire. That cog would serve him well, would feel so good once implanted...

“A fine specimen. The bot this came from was not very advanced in age...These ventrical seams haven’t even broken...”

Clearly, Tarn was an expert on t-cogs himself. He certainly had studied the papers Pharma himself had written during his spare time.

This made Pharma the perfect candidate to do this procedure. And every subsequent follow-up. Though the good doctor wasn’t aware that this wasn’t a one-time thing.

Pharma had been busy with fighting down the urge to duck away from Tarn and suppressing the shudder that desperately wanted to run down his backstrut, when Tarn suddenly described the most vital medical remarks about the very T-cog Pharma had chosen for today.

He almost wanted to ask where he knew that from, but bit on his tongue quickly enough and figured that some poor medic must have said something alike about some other cog before and he was just merely repeating it.

Though some little voice in the back of his mind whispered that that might not be true at all and Tarn indeed had read and understood all the necessary literature himself…

Pharma pushed all of it away and closed the box again.

“I take it you’re pleased with my choice of T-cog. Now, please, it is not in long-term storage anymore and even though I personally came up with the formula for the short-term coolant, studies have shown that the sooner the implant, the better. And I still need to thoroughly examine you before surgery.”

He felt like he could finally properly ventilate again when Tarn stepped away from him.  
The heat seeping into him from the tankformer’s massive frame, the subsonic purr of powerful engines… All of it only added to Tarn’s impressive aura.

Tarn was willingly on the slab now, fully prepared to be entirely conscious during his surgery. He wouldn’t let let Pharma go unattended, especially not when his servos would be delving deeply into Tarn’s frame.

The cog he delivered was of a high quality and the doctor had unwittingly earned himself a high mark in Tarn’s mental book. If the surgery was quick and flawless, it would mean another plus for Pharma, and an extended period of grace for Delphi.

The Autobots must have been desperate for the nodes deep under the ice and snow of Messatine to set up a mining operation in known enemy territory.

“I won’t be needing any dampeners, doctor. I like to watch a medic at work.”

The message was clear and unmistakable. Tarn wanted to supervise his actions. And while Pharma hated nosy patients questioning him, even if they only did so by looking, he would not object. At least not a lot.

He raised the injector.  
“I can apply a local dampener if you wish, but of course, not necessary as long as you hold entirely still. If, however, you do only so much as twitch, I might have to apply dampener to finish the procedure, in your own best interest.”

Pharma stepped next to Tarn and looked over him again, processor automatically noting down the most important information about him.  
Warframe, tankformer, typically thick armour and weapons everywhere. Tarn had the most peculiar biolighting, it oscillated and definitely drew the eye. The old hydraulics fluid. Pharma made a note to mention that later to provide a well-rounded experience. 

“You look to be in good overall health, which means I can start the procedure. Any notable malfunctions or accidents in your recent history?”

Pharma sprayed Tarn’s right-side plating with a clear fluid that immediately stuck to it.

For Tarn, it wasn’t a matter of being nosy, nor was his denial of any dampener a masochistic act. If he didn’t supervise the doctor’s action, he was putting himself into a trusted and vulnerable position. If he numbed himself anywhere, it would affect his attention and observation efficiency.

Besides, it wasn’t as if an incision and the necessary snapping of energon lines into his current cog were devastatingly painful. He had been through worse by far, though the doctor would not get to see the poorly healed evidence of that.

In general, Tarn didn’t like being a patient. He let most of his injuries heal on their own, which was why his frame was littered with welding scars and lumpy mesh. Right now, he was twitching to transform, but the state of his current cog denied him the pleasure.

“No recent injuries. A strain on all systems when transforming fully, but that is the reason for you being here.”

Pharma looked at him, truly the gaze of a doctor establishing if the patient was to be trusted or not, then averted his gaze again.

“Lay back please. I will open your plating with this laser scalpel”, he held it up so Tarn could see it, clearly aware of why he wanted to remain without dampener.

Pharma would walk him through the entire process, slowly, steadily, as to not startle his patient or inflict pain without formal warning. That was both important for his own work, since Tarn needed to remain still, as it was for Tarn to not harm him. In the end, it all boiled down to Tarn not harming him, but Pharma had every trust in his own abilities. Even on disgusting Decepticon warframes that didn’t deserve his expertise at all.

“This might hurt, I would say if you weren’t a warframe. Let me rephrase it then: It might tickle a little now when I remove the plating.”

The laser hissed into life and then ran steadily without noise. Pharma’s fingers made quick work of the plating and gently put it aside to be welded back into place later on.  
below it, he could see the T-cog casing that looked thoroughly used as well, as if its contents had been heated time and time again, wearing even the surrounding metal out.

With some nanite application, that might be fixed though.

“I’m opening your T-cog casing now, it needs four little cuts that, since I’m working on internal organs, might indeed hurt even you.”

Pharma continued his work and soon enough was faced with a thoroughly burnt T-cog. Black, badly smelling dusty smoke wafted out of it and as soon as it was gone, the most demolished and used-up T-cog Pharma had ever seen laid bare in front of him.

It was even still warm… How did Tarn transform with this?

“Oh”, he said quietly, “You have to work on your transforming habits.”

Even the removal of his old cog was uncomfortable. Tarn made no noise of pain, even when he could very well feel the laser cut through his plating. Plating that didn’t shift because a normal bot would only need the t-cog they were molted or built with during their lifetime. Except when a bot transformed thirty times of day and did so until the cog was begging and screaming for relief. Even when his hydraulic fluid had been dangerously hot, Tarn transformed. 

He was very much aware that what he had was an addiction. But that didn’t mean he would make a move to stop himself from needing the transformations. He didn’t want to treat his habits, he wanted to indulge them.

“I don’t remember making psychological assessment part of this negotiation, doctor. Now if you’d please continue. I’d like not to lay bare-panelled for the entire nightcycle.”

Tarn was somewhat amused but his voice held that mocking edge as always, no matter what the mood of the bot. Tarn’s amusement was something that terrified most with good reason.

Of course, most bots didn’t reach into him and pulled out disgustingly worn organs from his frame.

Pharma dared to roll his optics. He was the medic after all and even though everything about this situation was supposed to be entirely Tarn’s control, Pharma had his servos in him and could, with the flick of a finger, inflict severe damage.

Not that he would, because it would endanger his own life and that of his subordinates. Which was why he was here in the first place.

At Tarn’s commentary, complete with mocking tone and all, Pharma couldn’t help but retort, sounding somewhat snappy,

“I fear psychoanalytical things are mostly outside of my expertise anyway, I was merely offering you medical advice. And please, do allow me to work at my own pace. Now, I will clamp up the energon supply, there’s… six to ten of those, depending on your habits..”

It ended up being twenty pipes that Pharma had to clamp before he could carefully extract the worn out T-cog. “There we go”, Pharma said and raised it up, putting it to the side.  
“I will clean out the casing a little and apply swiftmend nanites. It might prickle.”

He did as he said, then raised the applicator and filled up little tears and cracks with the silver paste from it.  
Then, very aware of how much Tarn wanted the new T-cog in him, he turned towards the box and carefully extracted the golden, shiny T-cog. It had been from one of the younger miners that had recently died due to a well-known, inherited form of patchy rust.

Pharma was sure even that bot would rather die than give Tarn of all bots his T-cog, but he was dead anyway, so that was that.

Delphi needed to be safe.

“Inserting the new cog now and re-attaching your energon supply as well as the stabilizers.”

He followed his own instructions and swiftly applied the thin cables, pipes and wires to the new organ.  
“Closing the casing and the plating now, I have to weld.”

Pharma didn’t ask if Tarn wanted a dampener or not, he just welded everything together and took a step back.  
“You should be capable of transforming painlessly now. It might feel a little numb until your systems are adapted to the new cog, but that should be all. If you please.”  
He gestured to the free space besides the slab, awaiting Tarn’s transformation.

Though most bots would take a few moments to recover from the strain of surgery and the pain of undampened welding, Tarn was off of the slab in a sparkbeat, sliding into his transformation with a relieved sigh. In tank form, he idled only for a moment, engine purring with satisfaction at the ease of the action, before he transformed back to root form. 

“Much better.” another series of transformations and his cog wasn’t even aching in the slightest.

“Excellent work, doctor. Just what I would have expected of the author of ‘An analytical transformation’.” 

Of course Tarn had read every publication to do with t-cogs. He indulged his habits with the utmost satisfaction and with that came a sparkdeep interest in having a medical and academic background of knowledge to draw upon.

Surprise washed over him, surprise at Tarn’s knowledge of one of his bigger publications and surprise that he was being praised so openly.  
He was almost preening at it, it had indeed been a masterful surgery, not even one bit of Tarn’s transformation process looked odd or out of place as was usually the case after transplants.

But Pharma was the best, his work flawless and Tarn did well to appreciate that.

“Well”, Pharma said and packed his belongings back into the medikit, “Your transplant was successful. I would advise you some dampeners for self-application, but I have the slight idea that you wouldn’t want them anyway.”

He held the medikit on the little handle, like a tiny suitcase as he turned to Tarn again, intending to top it all off.

“You should get your hydraulic fluids replaced. It will make the transformations even smoother.”

“You’d best keep that in mind for the next appointment then.” Tarn was well aware of the fact he had never mentioned anything ongoing in their deal, and yes, he did savour surprising the medic with this little hitch in proceedings. He had to take joy in some of his business dealings after all, they were so rare.

Pharma had probably been under the impression that this one time transplant was enough to ensure the survival of him and his facility.

Oh how very wrong the poor doctor was, labouring under the illusion that peace could be bartered for so easily. 

“I would say about a month from now. Unless there’s complications, in which case I will summon you earlier.”

Pharma felt as if everything in him dropped. A perfect visualization for how he felt was the medikit clattering to the ground as he let it go in shock, opening as it hit the metal surface, spilling its contents.

He couldn’t have kept his composure, not at that.

Next appointment? A month from now?

His first notion was to say no. No no no and no.  
He didn’t even have enough T-cogs to supply him with, it wasn’t often that he had frozen a specimen like the one now resting inside of Tarn.

But Tarn’s tone told him everything. Pharma wasn’t dumb. As he stared at the DJD commander, realization hit him - this had been planned from the beginning, he had just not been told the entire plan, keeping him in the more or less good mood that this would all be over soon and he could happily forget about it, like a nightmare.

“You’d better warn me before you deliver such… grand news. These were expensive”, he said and then knelt down, aware of the fact he was forced to kneel in front of Tarn to collect his belongings.

“Nothing I’m sure you cannot replace.” Tarn looked down at him, optics glowing fiercely behind his mask, an impassive and impenetrable sign of his loyalty. Which was as unquestionable as his cunning. The good doctor had agreed without knowing the full parameters of their deal and his subsequent shock at discovering the truth was not Tarn’s problem to deal with.

“And now that you have, indeed, performed a perfect surgery on my person, you’ll understand the implications of yourself as what your high command would consider a traitor. You should feel lucky that Autobots do not possess an effective justice division to discover your treachery. Your survival is the result of my will, doctor. Do not forget it. Kaon will escort you back to the teleporter.”

Pharma forced his horror down and instead channeled it into aloof annoyance. Which of course he didn’t express with words, but rather in posture as he got up, medikit in hand once more and waited for Kaon to hand him the blinding device again.

He didn’t reward Tarn with any words of farewell, he just strode out of the room in front of Kaon even, wings perked as if he wanted to express that Tarn was far from breaking his will.

Pharma, CMO of Delphi, was making a deal to ensure his and his facility’s survival. Something that Autobot HIgh Command would never be able to do.

Pharma was teleported back into the frozen wasteland he had been in mere hours ago, before he found out what an impossible trap he had walked into. 

Upon his return to the facility, only First Aid seemed curious about his absence. It wasn’t often that his boss took strolls into the cold wilderness outside. In fact, Pharma was the primary source of complaints about their current situation with the blizzard making the generators an increasingly difficult resource to maintain.

Of course, there was work waiting for him. A mining accident had brought four bots into emergency care, energon splattering their berths and neutron drips hooked up to each of them.

First Aid held up the pad that contained all vital information and proceeded with his report, his questions as to Pharma’s little excursion unspoken, but logged for his diary. Someone had to make a record of their frozen vigil out here deep behind enemy lines.

“The supervisor suspects Decepticon interference, that tunnel was reported stable only two days ago. A collapsed ceiling. Three drills were lost in the rubble and are beyond repair. The patients are stable, but due to their prolonged exposure to the temperatures in the shaft, all of them have hypothermic reactions resulting in frigid hydraulic fluid and severe galling. One of the two senior miners is showing an extremely traumatic reaction and needed to be subdued and processor dampened. What do you recommend in procedures, sir?”

Part of being a doctor was to be able to immediately enter a state in which personal problems did not matter and solely his profession would occupy one’s processor. Pharma excelled at it, like every good doctor and so he reached for the datapad, scrolling through the information as First Aid briefed him.

“Heat up their fuel rations and have them supplied with thermoblankets for tonight. Keep the senior miner dampened for now until I have time to get to him, what about the four here? I suspect they were hit by rubble… Any explosions?”

Even a bot without medical training could see that there had indeed been explosions, one bot had a malfunctioning, singed shoulderjoint and the three others minor burn marks.

Nothing beyond repair though, only a long nightcycle full of patch-up jobs. Which was exactly what Pharma needed now, lots of work.

He deliberately ignored the fact for now that it might have been.. scratch that, he knew it had been Decepticon interference - that was Tarn’s way of sending him a warning that indeed he had control of the entirety of the Autobot facilities here.

“Have the mining supervisor contact Autobot High Command if he hasn’t already - the drills need to be replaced. And First Aid”, he reached out to grab the nurse’s shoulderplate, to make him look at him, “Remind him to ask for the increase in medical funds. We both know how important that is.”

First Aid didn’t need reminding, he took care of the stock inventory on a regular basis and their supplies were dwindling at an alarming rate. Their initial settlement had come with only a roomful of spare parts and fluids, and those were stretched very, very thin. Their supply of hydraulic fluid was only enough for one complete surgery, then they’d have to start donating and recycling which in itself was a painful procedure.

“What about security reinforcements? The supervisor is working without breaks and already shows signs of severe exhaustion, but we do not have the guards to replace him. This...if it was really an attack...the Decepticons are capable of reaching this facility. And I don’t think they make exceptions of respecting the code of combat that exempts medical facilities.”

First Aid had long since hoped that they would evacuate this station, even if the supplies coming from the mines were increasingly important. But he never could recharge easily, even with Ambulon in his vicinity.  
It felt like Pharma’s stubborn tenacity was the only thing standing between the Autobot High Command’s orders to abandon Delphi and staying here, carrying on in the abominable cold.

“This is DJD territory”, Pharma snapped, “They are capable of blowing this whole planet into pieces if they want to - we just have to make do for now! Order is order - we’re staying here until High Command decides to get us off of this primus-forsaken icepit!”

He realized he was positively bristling and forced himself to calm down. The dumb little nurse was just frustrated and so was he.

Pharma sighed softly and squeezed First Aid’s shoulderplate before letting go off him,  
“Offer the supervisor two charges of energizer, that should help him for now. Don’t worry so much, the Decepticons don’t have much reason to attack us. Perhaps it was really just an accident. Get the energizer to the supervisor and do what I said before and then take this shift off with Ambulon.”

Of course what he said was cold calculation, even if spoken in a warm tone, all to get First Aid distracted and think about something else than his superior’s little fit or his excursion or his fear of Decepticon attacks.

“I will take care of these four here.” 

“Alright sir. Thank you sir.” First Aid knew not to push his boss too far. He’d endured plenty of double shifts for speaking out of turn and he never wanted to feel that degree of exhaustion again. But there was one last bit of information he had to verify with his superior.

“Sir, I took inventory today. The preserved Alpha-class t-cog has gone...missing. Yet no one was scheduled for surgery. Should I write a memo to the staff to investigate?”

“Not necessary”, Pharma said and leaned in to First Aid, “I took it. For further studies regarding my next publication. We have to make the best out of it, make a name for ourselves while we are here so that we one day escape this pit. Of course you and Ambulon will be duly noted as co-authors.”

That should do it. Both of his nurses knew how famous he was and should not further question his T-cog demand rising further.

“Have a good nightcycle, First Aid.”

“Yes sir. You too sir.” First Aid wondered how in all of their busy mess of a life, Pharma had a chance to even think about researching and writing another of his famous publications. But he was just a nurse now, it would be presumptious of him to think of what went on in Pharma’s head.

And he did want a free nightcycle, Ambulon had gotten his servos on some double-distilled...

-x-

The next time Tarn called upon Pharma was a far less convenient moment in the medic’s life. He was in the middle of finished off a pump replacement for one of the miners that had deteriorated in condition since the blast, contracting a rust infection to his insides that resulted in the replacement pump procedure.

::Doctor. I hope I am not disturbing you, but your presence and expertise is required. You have half an hour to prepare yourself and head to the usual coordinates for transport. I suggest you remember the hydraulic liquid you advised me on last time.::

Pharma was just glad for his subroutines kicking in and keeping him from clenching his hands in shock as Tarn contacted him.  
He stayed perfectly neutral and finished the welding he had been doing.

“Ambulon”, he called gruffly for the nurse, “Help me get the slab back into position.”  
He retracted the welding instrument and let his gaze wander over his finished work.  
Only when he left the station, about five minutes later, subroutines subsiding, panic crept up his spinal strut.

Twenty kliks, his chronometer reminded him and Pharma cursed it.

He made his way down to his private laboratory. It was small and had mostly makeshift equipment, but Pharma was inventive and dedicated. He made up things from scratch if he was sure they would help his research.

Out of the deep-freezer, Pharma fished one of the T-cogs - they were all in more or less good quality.  
It had been barely two orns since the last transplant, of the Alpha-quality as well, and already Tarn wanted a new one?  
This was madness… At this rate, his T-cogs would be gone in no time!

But no use, he had to do what he had to do.

-x-

T-cog safely secured in its transport box, placed into the medikit which Pharma carried neatly in one hand, the jetformer arrived in the teleportation room of the Peaceful Tyranny, once again wrapped into a huge thermocoat.

He said nothing, accepted the device to keep him blind mutely and followed Kaon once more even though he was quite sure he could remember the way.

Only in the gloomy medbay his blocked sight was revoked. 

Once again, Kaon left him in Tarn’s company silently, shutting the door firmly behind himself. Tarn looked at the doctor appraisingly. Pharma looked a little less cocky than last time, he must have realized that his new client’s demand might exceed his supply. Not to mention the additional fluid this procedure demanded. Draining hydraulic fluids was a painful, long process, especially if it was as congealed as Tarn had found his own to be. Small bubbles had formed in the formerly yellow liquid, by now diminished to a sickly brown that smelled as bad as it felt when he transformed. Even the high quality of the cog couldn’t sustain through that.

The DJD leader got on the slab in full sight of Pharma, arranging himself to be comfortable and welded on.

“I hope you won’t be missed, doctor. This visit may be lengthier than the last one.”

Pharma said nothing to that and wordlessly placed his medikit on top of the tablet and the canister he brought next to the slab.

“I’m afraid this is the last hydraulic fluid on all of Messatine”, he informed him then, “If High Command doesn’t finally listen to our need for supplies, I fear I cannot change your fluids again.”

There, he said it. Of course Tarn wouldn’t like that. But it was how it was and after this exhausting day, Pharma was tired and annoyed and already hated the fact he would have to stay here longer, prolonging the time until he got some much needed recharge.

He prepared the necessary instruments and didn’t even ask for a dampener this time. Regardless of if Tarn wanted one or not, Pharma would either bask in the fact that he was hurting or be secretly full of glee that he had asked for some.

“Removing the plating now. Lay back, do not move. I take it you don’t need me to name every step I do again, or would you like me to?”

“It will not be necessary. I trust in your expertise, doctor.” Tarn let his voice sicker down into Pharma’s core, giving him a first little taste of the special talent he was feared for across the galaxy. To Pharma’s luck, it wasn’t of the painful variety, just an involuntary flutter of his spark that demonstrated Tarn’s absolute power over this situation, laying on a slab or not. He didn’t need his impressive frame or intimidating weapons. His voice was his greatest.

Pharma stirred at it, hand trembling, the sparkfrequency overrode even his subroutines. With a little annoyed growl, he caught his own hand and held it still.  
So this was the talent the DJD leader was famous for. It would have been fascinating and interesting if Tarn had been delivered to him on a slab, dead or drugged, sedated enough for him to pick him apart and analyze the modules that changed his voice like this.

“Don’t do that again during the procedure!”, he snapped and held up his trembling hand. The effect was subsiding quickly, but still quite visible.  
“I have protocols to prevent this usually, but your… gift overrides it easily. For your own safety, do not speak to me like this while my fingers are in your entrails.”

Without a warning he cut open the plating and the cog casing quickly, putting the pieces aside.  
The pristine, fresh, perfectly preserved golden T-cog from a month ago was nothing more than burnt, partially molten metal.  
Pharma stared at it in disbelief. It almost looked worse than the last one and Tarn must have had that one for far longer!

Which meant he had been transforming very liberally, a logical conclusion that came with the removal of pain to the process.

It was a neverending circle. And Pharma would have to deliver.

Tarn only chuckled at the warning, even though the risk was very clearly his own personal health. The ways in which he could play with this dutiful medic were boundless before him and he was deliciously aware of every tremble of Pharma’s fingers, though it had lessened once the effect of his voice had worn off. The medic really did have those famous, steady, forged hands that other reports about him mentioned. No wonder he was a star surgeon back on Cybertron.

“As you can see, doctor, we’re going to have to shorten the duration between our visits. I seem to have a greater demand for you to supply.”

Of course he knew that Pharma had already delivered cogs for this time too, or else the medic would have snapped some sort of excuse upon his arrival. Tarn could not help but wonder just how plentiful the supply of dead bots on Delphi was, for Pharma to have them so readily available. All the better for him. He did love transforming without consequence.

Pharma on the other hand was all but calm about this matter. Surely, his hands were steady, his professional expertise above his personal emotions, but inside, he was boiling.  
As soon as he had replaced the cog just like the time before and welded the plating close, he looked up at Tarn.

“My supply of T-cogs isn’t endless”, he said, voice steady, but with a tad of anger behind it, “Please keep that in mind. You took barely two orns to shred an alpha cog, it’s not easy to get one of those.”

Luckily, Pharma had been the one to develop the long-time storage technique, so he did have a stock frozen for his research. One that he saw being reduced drastically in the near future.

“Now, for the hydraulics… Do you know where your intake is? Or do I have to find it?”

“As amusing as it would be for you to search my frame for it, I would prefer less time with, as you so poetically put it, your servos in my entrails.” Tarn resisted the relentless urge to shift form and merely moved himself, his own servo wandering down his frame in a slow, deliberate fashion. He curved over his hip, towards what was definitely impressive plating over his interface panel to his abdomen, where he easily clicked a thick piece of plating aside to reveal a foul smelling open pipe. Even the rim of it was crusted with old hydraulic fluid.

“It hurts right here, doctor.” Tarn was purring, his voice pure, smooth elegance with the roughest edges of something tainted in unholy desire. And that was just his voice as normal, without any undertone to end sparks.

Irritation crept up Pharma’s spinal server, he frowned ever so slightly at the little show. Not that he was wondering what Tarn was hinting at, not at all.  
But of course he was mocking him, twisting his bulky tank-frame in a way that Pharma absolutely did not find attractive. In any way.

Pharma did not find filthy Decepticon bad guys attractive.

On the other hand, Pharma knew how to play and when Tarn purred and sounded all erotic, no, scratch that, he did not sound erotic, he sounded… silly. Annoying.  
So when Tarn sounded all silly and annoying, but presented his smelly pipe to Pharma, the medic couldn’t help but answer,

“Perhaps you clean that up next time you show it to someone, it smells.”

In the end, Pharma had to do the cleaning. He was shocked at the disgusting muck coming out of Tarn - “How did you even transform with this slag in you?” - but decided to not be shocked about anything anymore. This was all quickly spiralling into complete and utter madness and he was spiralling with it.

As soon as he had connected the new canister, Pharma began packing his things. No need to stay longer than absolutely necessary, as soon as Tarn was done, he would leave.

Tarn watched him as the new fluid slowly trickled into him. It wasn’t a pleasant process, but the thought of painless, smooth and fast transformations overrode any pain his receptors were expressing.

However, it was also a lengthy process, and he would prefer to spend the duration of it with a conversational partner rather than in silence.

“I suppose you must be pretty busy in your station, Pharma,” he used the bot’s name with an ease and familiarity common to old friends, not uneasy business partners who may or may not be in peril of losing their life.

“Seeing as you have so many...accident victims to take care of. And without any supply ships in sight. Must be quite tedious to manage an entire medical station in such a state.”

What he said contained only the barest hint of mockery. He could, oddly enough, emphasize with Pharma. He too managed a team of bots in an odd position, though their circumstances were very different. For one, the ship was warm as any tropically tempered planet and not suffering under the natural surroundings of Messatine. Tarn wasn’t particularly prone to the cold, but certain members of his time could get into high-pitched, primal vernacular whining, which was extremely unpleasant.

Pharma stirred again, he had not expected to be talked to.  
Of course Tarn would manage the accident, because it had been his order all along. The medic kept his cool and clicked the medikit shut.  
“It is indeed quite tedious. Curious that you would mention that under such circumstances. Rest assured that I am very aware of your surveillance on me and the entire base, if that is the reason behind you seeking seemingly casual conversation”, he replied in a calm manner. It was undeniable though that his name, spoken by Tarn, had a certain ring to it that Pharma enjoyed secretly. Not that he would ever admit to that, of course.

“Out of curiosity”, he asked because apparently, Tarn was in a talkative mood, “Would you even let transport ships through?”

Because if he didn’t, then Pharma might as well call off the deal here and now and evacuate Delphi.

“Hm. Let us weigh out the consequences of either choice, shall we?” Tarn arranged himself to be comfortable, one servo circling on his abdominal plating to soothe the ache of the wretched fluid seeping into him.

“If I blocked off your supplies, you’d be forced to abandon this base sooner rather than later. It would squander the resources Autobot High Command needs so desperately they would risk an operation so deeply in enemy territory. It would be a sizable blow to the enemy on the warfront, truly.”

He sighed as if it caused him heavy thoughts to think of his enemy, Megatron’s enemy, so severely diminished.

“However, if I let the supply ships through without the slightest hint of awareness that we are monitoring this sector very efficiently, your operation would continue. Well-stocked with medical supplies that would otherwise run out very shortly. You would be free to continue managing your first official station, and I would not have to go far looking for a suitable surgeon to pander to my personal needs.”

How selfish this reasoning was, Tarn knew very well. He had discussed it in his mind plenty of times, whether or not he could permit himself to put his own needs into the playing field. But the strategic benefit of monitoring Autobot supplies also levered a wealth of information about the enemy conditions to the DJD and that was definitely justifiable reason to keep Delphi in tact. 

But Pharma didn’t need to know that.

“Perhaps it is my goodwill that keeps your operation safe. I am lord Megatron’s extension, and I punish those that would turn their back against our lord and master. The destruction of enemy forces is a task for lesser abled Decepticons.”

“So, in the theoretical case”, Pharma began, turned around and regarded Tarn, “That said lesser abled Decepticons would decide to attack our facility - what would happen?”

He noticed Tarn’s expression and raised a hand, “I am merely trying to establish the perimeters and boundaries of our… arrangement. I want to know just what exactly I can expect from you in turn for this.”  
Pharma gestured in the general direction of Tarn’s t-cog, trying his absolute best to not let his eyes linger too long on the rubbing hand on Tarn’s abdominal plating that was strangely… enthralling in the way it moved slowly, deliberately, gently even.

Of course Tarn was observant enough to notice, and subtle enough not to comment. It seemed the good doctor was more stressed and overworked than he realized, failing to fulfill a few protocols that were necessary to a healthy bot’s lifestyle. Especially one as finely forged as Pharma. Tarn could appreciate the craftsmanship that went into every part of his frame, from the delicate and expressive wings over the aristocratic, pretentious yet beautiful faceplate and the absolute exquisite curve of his sapphire thighs.

A work of art, that frame. And with the medical expertise, a true masterpiece.

“If you are expecting me to promise you protection from a direct assault, I’m afraid I have to crush your dreams. If the order is given to eradicate Delphi, I will be the first bot to blow through your doors.” 

Tarn’s servo lingered, then swerved down to sweep over the plating covering his spike. It was warm to the touch and his interfacing protocols pinged gently in question of a partner. He denied it for now, sending his fans back into dormancy.

“However, if the matter is brought to me in question, I could be persuaded to point out the strategic benefit to have such a well monitored well of resources right beneath my thumb.”

Pharma tore his gaze away at that, he really didn’t need to see what was beneath Tarn’s thumb right now. How utterly depraved this Decepticon was!  
He wanted to shudder with disgust at the perverse display, but instead crossed his arms, forcing himself to look into Tarn’s optics when he spoke and not anywhere else.

“Of course I know that you would follow your orders if given to you and I am glad to hear you would even consider voting against Delphi’s annihilation if asked for your opinion”, Pharma hated what he said, but it was necessary. Necessary, so the mentioned annihilation would be stopped.

“What I meant though would be the case of a group of lesser abled Decepticons trying to destroy Delphi without explicit order, just because they can. Is protection - to a point - from such a thing included in our arrangement or not?”

“It’s certainly open to discussion. If such a rogue action were to take place, it would be my express duty to punish any Decepticon acting outside of their orders from my lord and master. That would certainly take precedence over the destruction of an enemy base with such potential use as Delphi.”

He purred the name of the facility as if it was fine energon candy, to be devoured whenever Tarn saw fit. And that indeed was the case. Pharma knew that intimately well.

“Will that ease your conscious, dear doctor? To broker a measure of protection from the Decepticon Justice Division?” Tarn’s voice was melted energon, it poured over Pharma with all the sweet lies and promises of pleasure courtesy of his talent. Pharma was, after all, clear of his entrails right now.”

A violent shudder ran down Pharma’s frame and he cursed it, clenching and unclenching his hands, wings adjusting, trying to get rid of the horrible feeling that was Tarn’s voice bleeding into his spark like the energon candy with the molten core Pharma loved so much, goading it on.

“S-slightly”, he answered, resetting his vocalizer immediately after just to make sure it wouldn’t stutter again.

Tarn was unbearable. The room was rather large, almost as big as the main surgery hall in Delphi, but it still felt stuffed because of Tarn. His presence was in the very air and Pharma didn’t want to ventilate too much.  
He checked the fluidics again, 65%.

Offlining his optics for a brief moment, he allowed himself one quick ventilation cycle before he turned again.

“I hope this… talent of yours doesn’t get your vocalizer into a need for replacement as well.”

“Rest assured, doctor, that I take excellent care of my vocalizer. I would never let even the best Decepticon medic near it.” Tarn’s throat was protected by layers of armor and cable and he truly would eradicate anyone who came near it. Except when lord Megatron reached and disabled it for his own pleasure, but that was absolutely confidential knowledge shared only between Tarn and his master.

“Now that your mind is appeased, you won’t mind allowing me a little personal relaxation, would you? Good.”

Tarn did not wait for a response, instead flicking his free servo over a button near the berth. It was his med bay after all. Music filled the room, a tasteful melody with deep power humming through its base notes. Tarn offlined his optics and reclined his helm, clearly deciding that Pharma didn’t need further supervision for now as he quietly hummed along.

Pharma thought he didn’t hear right for a moment and reset his audials, but there it was. Steel Chime’s voluptuous voice filled the Peaceful Tyranny’s medbay and the medic stood there, fascinated and all audials for it.

At least for ten nano-kliks. Then he realized where he was and who had just turned on Steel Chime and Pharma couldn’t help himself but shake his head a little.  
Impossible.

Tarn was doing this to mock him, he probably knew Pharma loved Steel Chime and was only using this for some wicked reason he didn’t yet fully understand.

The best way to go about it would be to fully ignore it and wait what would happen then.  
Nothing happened. Tarn didn’t even online his optics and if Pharma hadn’t known better he would have actually been tricked into believing that the warframe really did like this music.

Pharma didn’t dare speak, Steel Chime was too good to be interrupted by words or any other noises. He decided to lean back against another slab and just listened to the music as well while steadily keeping his optics wandering between Tarn and the completion bar.

Tarn paid him no mind until the music shuffled to something other than Steel Chime, but equally enjoyable and equally rare in this sector.

He only onlined his optics once the fluid monitor beeped its completion. He felt oddly full and surprisingly groggy for having undergone a relatively vitalizing procedure. He caught Pharma a second before reaction though, a mellow expression on his face that gave Tarn all the clues in the world as to how the medic received the musical interlude. 

“You’re familiar with Steel Chime’s works, doctor?” Of course he was. Such a pretentious frame would not be caught dead not knowing the most revered of classical cybertronian artists.

It was almost a shame that Tarn’s excuse for keeping Pharma in the medbay had just finished and announced itself loudly.

“Of course I am”, Pharma answered, sneering a little bit down his nose. What uncultured glitch did not know Steel Chime?  
“I am, however, surprised to hear it in this environment.”

He stepped forward and typed on the pump’s panel before retracting the pipe from Tarn’s intake.

“Well”, Pharma said and angrily pushed the little hint of regret in his spark away, he could listen to Steel Chime once he was in his berth, it was tarnished (:D) here anyway by the presence of a certain tankformer, “Your treatment is done. I hope you can afford to give me some more time than half a megacycle the next time you call.” 

“Of course, doctor. I wouldn’t want to strain such a burdened bot as yourself. I will even give you a little more time to prepare before the next appointment, as a reward for your pleasurable company.”

Tarn got up once his intake was sealed and went into his usual transformation fit, tank, bot, tank, bot, tank.

“I believe you know your way out. Kaon.”

The bot materialized almost out of thin air, offering the helm cover to the doctor with an almost jovial smirk on his face.

Tarn transformed back into his root form.

“Until next we meet, doctor.”

-x-

Their visits continued at rapidly shorter intervals. The better the repairs and transplants, the faster Tarn burned through Pharma’s supply of cogs. His stock was diminished rapidly, even going as far as being entirely gone. Which had ended one bot’s ability to transform when the guard came in, blasted in half with his t-cog eviscerated. 

First Aid had been shocked by Pharma’s snarled response when he asked what had happened to their supply. He didn’t buy his boss’ excuse of having used them all up in his research. No way could Pharma have been so reckless with their resources!

First Aid didn’t want to add to Pharma’s stress, which seemed to have increased tenfold with every patient that came in.  
It just didn’t add up. And although the accidents and attacks were frequent, they weren’t worse than before. Yet Pharma grew all the more impatient and short with his staff. Just the other day, an unpracticed nurse had handed him the wrong tool and Pharma’s anger had exploded into a litany of primal vernacular swearing. At least the poor nurse was fortunate enough not to understand most of it, but spent the evening crying his woes into double-distilled regardless.

Someone had to speak with Pharma. First Aid really didn’t want that to be him, but Pharma’s reaction to Ambulon had equally increased in hostility.

He sighed heavily as he knocked at Pharma’s office door, preparing himself for a tirade against his incompetence and other shortcomings.

“Sir?” he entered cautiously once he was allowed in, standing by Pharma’s desk which was, as always, arranged with arduous attention to order and neatness. Even under stress, Pharma was a control freak. He kept that particular opinion to himself though.

“I hate to bother you on your off-shift, but there’s...been another incident. We performed the necessary surgery, but we have complications that need your opinion and decision. It’s the guard supervisor, Fender. He’s...his hydraulics are congealing and we can’t find a cause. Or the necessary amount to replace his liquids.”

Pharma turned around, looking exasperated and tired. He had been about to snarl at First Aid when the nurse relayed the information to him.  
“Primus, when will the accidents ever stop?”, the medic muttered to himself and got up, shaking his helm. Then he turned to First Aid and barked, “Why are you still standing here? Go, we have a life to save!”

They hurried off to the medbay, but Pharma already knew what was wrong. Congealing hydraulic fluids, the bot needed a replacement quickly…

The only problem was that their last hydraulic fluid was feeding the DJD leader’s addiction for transformation right now, nothing more.  
Pharma could have screamed with frustration right now, this was all so horribly fragged up already - and he had the slight feeling the spiral was still going on, still going downwards.

“He needs hydraulic fluids”, Pharma stated the obvious once they got there, realizing only then that both Ambulon and First Aid had known that already and just not dared to tell him. 

He leaned over their patient. “You will be fine, don’t worry”, Pharma’s tone was soft almost, also a remarkable trait of his forged medibot frame - he did make for an impressive doctor once he was fully professional about everything, even if most bots around him couldn’t stand his personality.

“Find his intake and get the muck out of him!”, he ordered Ambulon, “First Aid, get me three vacuum bags and three 7-gauge needles.”

Pharma sat down on a chair. This patient of theirs was in a bad condition. Transforming as much as he did, with the icy cold outside… Even the security guard’s insulated frames and his heavy engine would give in at some point and that point was now.  
They needed to replace the hydraulic fluids.

Usually, a bot produced enough hydraulic fluid on his own accord, provided he had a normal transformation pattern. Bots that transformed a lot or bots that were under immense stress usually came up with these symptoms that could easily lead to a system-wide rust infection or T-cog inflammation. The hydraulic pipes could even burst and mix with the energon coursing through them and then they had a true problem at hand.

Nevertheless, the situation now was critical enough as it was. Which was why Pharma was not beyond himself to force the needles into his own hydraulic pipes to at least keep the bot alive until he could produce more on his own account.

Pharma felt slightly dizzy after filling three of the vacuum bags. He knew this was the limit and he wouldn’t be able to transform for at least half an orn now, but if it meant he could save one of the bots entrusted to his care, then it was well worth it.

First Aid and Ambulon assisted him as necessary, both not saying a word about Pharma’s sacrifice. It was dangerous in their conditions to be functioning at anything less than optimal efficiency, which was why strict rules were in place regarding the donation of any part of fluid from the medics. Pharma’s dedication was absolutely unquestionable and First Aid suddenly felt bad for being so annoyed with the boss’ short temper. He probably couldn’t imagine the stress Pharma was under and he should be grateful that the bot was taking it all on himself, and keeping it off of his subordinate’s shoulders. 

The procedure was still difficult, since they couldn’t just drain all the hydraulic fluid out of Fender, but with the small supply given by Pharma, it was at least possible to move him comfortably into stasis and keep him alive with neutron drips.

Only once Ambulon wheeled the sedated patient out of their operating theatre did First Aid have the opportunity to speak to his understandably weary boss.

“You’re really an amazing doctor, sir.”

He knew Pharma was proud of himself and didn’t need the reinforcement under normal circumstances, but here, it felt like he had to let him know that his hard service did not go unnoticed. Even if it came from a lowly nurse.

“I don’t know many bots that would have done the same.”

Pharma looked up from where he was scribbling something down about the surgery and looked confused for a moment, as if his processor needed a moment to fully understand what had just been said to him.

Then, his optics focused on First Aid and he couldn’t help but feel his spark warm a little at the nurse’s honest opinion.

“Much appreciated, First Aid. I…”, he felt mellow, probably due to the loss of vital fluids, “I don’t think it all would go so well without your capable hands in it. Lifeline will take over for tonight, we all need a break.”

“Sir?” All needed a break? Ever since the increased frequency of the incidents, he and Ambulon scarcely had the time to spend alone together without being completely exhausted. The former Decepticon may be tetchy and argumentative, but he was much better company than his lonesome self. Delphi had that effect on bots. The temperature, the desolation, the stress...it just had this way of making you feel alone. 

“Well the patients are all stable and you do look understandably exhausted...just to clarify, when you say we, does that pertain to you and myself or does it include...other bots currently on duty as well?”

Ambulon had a nightshift today and First Aid had already resigned himself to only feel the badly painted frame behind him for a few kliks before he had to get up again.

Pharma would have been snappy if he had been his usual stressed self, but in his mellow mood he just looked up, chuckled a little and said,  
“Yes, that even includes former Decepticon scum that selflessly offered his off-shift today as well to save the guard. Enjoy yourselves. I will comm Lifeline.”

He managed a dismissive motion with his hand and turned towards the intercom panel to comm the other nurse.

First Aid nodded even though his boss had turned away and left him to it to tell Ambulon the good news. He had to admit, maybe an exhausted Pharma was a halfway nice bot. But he’d probably return to his snippish self by the morning.

Whatever. He would enjoy this night.

The bot he had formerly been thinking about though would not get his well earned rest so easily.

::Doctor. Up so late?:: Tarn sounded amused, but in reality, he was a little bored. He’d just finished a long round of personal reviews. His team had performed well, admirably so recently, with three names stricken from the List.

And another cropped up. This one would definitely be of some interest to his business partner Autobot, since the target was so very, very close.

Pharma had half seen it coming. Whenever he thought it couldn’t get worse, Tarn would happily purr straight into his head.  
He had given up on trying to pinpoint where the DJD had their cameras installed, so he just accepted his fate as he got up and handed medical supervision authority for the nightcycle to Lifeline.

On his way to his room, Pharma managed to answer.  
::I was busy as you no doubt know.::

::Did I? That’s quite the assumption to make, doctor. To think I would be surveilling you at any given moment in time as if I don’t have my own operation to run.::

Tarn settled back in his chair, quadruple distilled in his hand and Steel Chime softly sharing the woes of the cybertronian golden age in the background. He bet if he left the comm channel a little wider, Pharma would pick up on it. He swirled the liquid around the drinking cube, idly regarding the straw he always used.

::You’ve had a hard day. You’ll be glad to know I’m not calling you for a procedure. This is for pleasure, not business.::

Pharma sighed loudly, glad that he was using transmission and not vocalized communication.  
Sighing offered plenty of much needed relief.

::I don’t believe that… pleasure was part of our arrangement.::  
The word had his drowsy mind supply him with unwanted images of what First Aid and Ambulon were no doubt busying themselves with.  
He had to admit he did envy them a little. Pharma couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had a good frag.  
But right now, it wasn’t just about that. Cheesy as it may sound, Pharma wanted someone to cuddle into and rest against and recharge for an orn.

And if he forgot about everything, the deal, Tarn being a disgusting Decepticon, the icy temperatures… then, deeply hidden in his tired mind, Pharma came up with a sweet little fantasy where Tarn called him to his warm ship, played Steel Chime for him and sat on a plush surface with him, letting Pharma recharge against the mech’s armoured frame while softly whispering pleasantries to him with that amazing voice of his.

That fantasy was nice, actually, and he was too tired to give up on it.  
Once in his room Pharma fell onto his berth, optics immediately offlined.  
He wanted Tarn to keep talking in that melodic, pleasant voice of his, so he sent,

::But since you’ve already called and I doubt I can just make you stop - please do tell me what you considered when you called me for pleasure.::

Tarn had almost ended the call when Pharma didn’t seem to respond, busy with wherever he was clearly walking to. He’d been listening to the music, wondering in what era of Steel Chime Pharma had first heard of him. Then, the medic was speaking again and Tarn allowed some pleasure to seep over the comm link.

He did enjoy having an intellectual conversational partner.

::I remember your familiarity with my music choice, and it led me to believe you and I have at least that in common. An appreciation for the finer things in life. Art, music, distilled...I myself enjoy quadruple, but can on occasion be persuaded for a triple. You should see my personal collection of records...if it was in Autobot hands, it would surely be confined to the upper caste.:: He chuckled, sure that his mildly disdainful tone would rouse a little bit of a response out of Pharma. If they ran out of conversational goods, he could always bring up Ambulon. But first, he wanted to hear if his dear doctor had picked up on the subtle invitation, because Tarn had definitely meant it. He would enjoy the doctor venting sharply over the sheer extent of his collection. His fine wings would perk, his backstrut a little stiff with the effort to restrain his enthusiasm…

Pharma thought he wasn’t receiving right for a moment. Then he chuckled to himself, too exhausted to truly wonder about it or even be angry, so he just answered with an amused little tone to it,  
::Did you just invite me to see your personal collection of records?::

The jetformer cuddled into his bedding, one hand on his kneejoint the other under his helm.  
::Upper caste? You should let someone be the judge of that who actually knows what the Upper Caste indulges in.::

His hand rested warmly on his knee and for some reason, his processor found it an amazing idea to supply him with a vivid fantasy of it being a way bigger hand, connected to a warframe… Pharma let it run over his upper leg, just a little. Just a little comfort, he earned that.

::Oh, someone like you, doctor? Someone far superior to a lowly warcaste bot such as myself?:: Tarn was settled comfortably as well and he turned off the comms to his subordinates. It was the most privacy he could afford them right now, without Pharma in his actual grasp. Now there was something he would definitely enjoy, wrong side of the war ignored.

::I’m sure you will have the means to accommodate your frame once you return to Cybertron. You are, after all, running an exceptionally difficult assignment competently. Even if your single-handed heroic efforts will never make it onto an actual report.:: Tarn hummed a few bars of Steel Chime over the comm link, feeling Pharma on the other end rather relaxed and comfortable. Definitely a pleasant experience for the medic, no matter how much he might deny it if questioned.

::You are, after all, an exceptional doctor, Pharma. Your preconceived notions of superiority put aside.::

Tarn was praising him in his very Tarn way of doing it, but Pharma decided to ignore the partial mockery in his words for now and just take the praise.  
It seeped into his spark like rich, thick energon and only when he moaned quietly into the silence of the room, Pharma became aware that Tarn was using his gift on him!  
That must be it!  
He was glad Tarn didn’t hear him or he would no doubt make fun of his exhausted, desperate pleasure.

The tones of Steel Chime Tarn hummed made it even better, made more warm waves of charge fizzle around his spark and Pharma thoroughly enjoyed it.  
It wasn’t right and he was either going to hate himself in the morning for it or he was going to erase it from memory. Probably both.

::Such praise is unexpected, given the source, but much appreciated::, he sent, ::How did you get your hands on the limited album tracks?::

::You wouldn’t feel so mellow if I told you, good doctor, so I will spare you the details. And just remind you that you are...invited to come enjoy this extensive collection yourself. You are a good business partner, I see no reason not to extend our relationship to more pleasantries than mere practicalities.:: Tarn was enjoying this immensely. He could picture this mellowed Pharma, at his servos, relaxing into his frame and thoroughly pleased with Tarn’s music taste. And Tarn’s voice. And his frame. Oh, he could think of plenty of ways to make Pharma’s nights a relaxing, rewarding experience. But all in good time. The doctor was continuing this transmission with him and that in itself was progress.

::It is almost a shame you don’t have the means for a similar invitation. From what I’ve seen, your facilities’ generators are falling a little short on the heating department. You must enjoy at least the temperature of your visits, hm?:: He could definitely picture Pharma relaxing on his plush couch, letting the heat of the Tyranny warm him thoroughly as he enjoyed a taste of Tarn’s personal stock. He sent Pharma a small data charge, loaded with the absolute luxury that Tarn enjoyed in his private quarters. The hearth, pulsing warmth through the room, the couch, made of an adjusting fabric that maximised comfort, the low glass table, always bearing engex and waver-thin, crisp energon slices....along with a backing of an excellent sound system that only played the finest music.

Pharma cursed audibly into his bedding that suddenly felt coarse and way too stiff for him to sleep on.  
He cut off the data connection, but it was too late anyway. Relaxation in here: ruined.

::I’m shocked that this was probably the most underhanded thing you’ve done to me so far - outside of our business::, Pharma transmitted, together with his upcoming grumpiness. Tarn should know better than to tease him when he was in this mood.

He sighed and rolled on his backplating, still keeping his optics offlined though. He could just imagine Tarn sitting there, on the couch, leaned back, with a glass of the fine engex he probably had…  
::I envy you right now, you know. And I can’t even decide what I want more: the warmth, the adjusting couch, the music or the quadruple-distilled. You truly are one of the real bad bots, Tarn.::

Better make a memo to delete this memory in the morning. Forever.

::I agree. So very bad, doctor.:: Tarn chuckled again, how could he not when Pharma’s scorn was so deliciously prickly and yet soft with longing on the edges. He knew exactly what a bot like Pharma would enjoy, and it was all at his disposal. He took a moment to sip through his straw, surveying what he had just sent to the medic.

::Teasing you with the pleasantries you’ve denied yourself by being such a dutiful Autobot medic. However, there is something missing from my palette of pleasure, which only you can provide, my dear doctor.:: he didn’t even need to use his voice to emulate the purring seduction in his tone, even across a comm link.

::I crave a good conversational partner. My team is well coordinated, obedient, smart in their own performances, but they lack worldly experience. Another thing you and I share deeply, alongside our exceptional leadership.::

For a brief moment, Pharma had though Tarn was going to make a straight up indecent offer. When he merely went for the ‘conversational partner’ that he craved, Pharma found himself weirdly disappointed - a notion he was quick to push away from him.

Perhaps it was really just the damned voice of his, it really couldn’t be anything else.

::The praise just doesn’t seem to subside tonight, it seems you really do yearn for someone to talk to…::  
Pharma smiled to himself.

::Go on then, I’m all receptive for your cravings.::  
Was he really flirting with Tarn now?  
Good Primus, this really needed to be deleted. Without backup.

Receptive indeed. Tarn could think of twenty different ways of making good of such an indecently blunt and suggestive phrasing, but he kept them all in his personal record storage for examination when he needed such inspiration. Right now though, he let a servo stroke over the welding over his t-cog, and over his covered intake. All places Pharma’s careful fingers had touched. He remembered each one vividly.

::So I was right. You too lack the entertainment of a good conversationalist. How fortunate the circumstances that brought our partnership to life have been. All discomforts of your position aside. I find it troublesome at best to document every move of my subordinates made...My time could be spent far more valuably. I confess a little boredom for my padwork, necessary as though it may be. I imagine you face much of the same. I recall a phrase by Starburst, that seems fitting. ‘Heavy is the frame upon which progress is built.’ It was written in the Golden Age, but I find it adequate during our current situation also.::

Tarn stroked himself a little more intensely as he pictured saying all this to Pharma in person. A deep purr transferred over to the medic before he could temper it. Tarn relished intellectual exchanges and he rarely got to make them.

Pharma found himself positively purring when Tarn quoted Starburst, one of Pharma’s favourite poets of the Golden Age.  
And when he received Tarn’s more or less cut-off noise of pleasure, it sent jolts of pleasure down his spinal server.  
Not enough to have his interfacing protocols pinging, and that would definitely have been too much, but enough to make his mesh tingle pleasantly and his fans setting one level higher.

::Wisely said and very fitting indeed. I believe this particular piece of him finishes with another one of my favourites: ‘Nothing worth having comes easily’.::  
With a little sigh, he curled up again to the side and continued,

::There was a time when I found this particular sentence to be ridiculous, but I believe that can be understandable given my upbringing. Now, however, I do see more truth in it than I ever would have thought.::

::’War makes for the wisest pacifist’.:: Tarn found it entirely too easy to keep quoting famous authors and poets to a bot who understood their words, who had probably grown up studying their lines for his pretentious pleasure. It was rewarding for both of them and for once, it was not tainted by the power Tarn held over the medic. He would keep this exchange in his saved files. Even if Pharma should misstep and perish, at least Tarn would remember what an exquisite knowledge of fine literature he possessed.

::Though I did always find that to be one of the more problematic quotes to understand. The notion that any bot who experiences war would be naive enough to think peace a permanent possibility has not seen true conflict. Peace can only be achieved,:: he savoured the richness of this particular quote from a piece of work he had studied with the utmost devotion, ::through tyranny.::

Pharma hissed quietly, gone was his good mood. Of course he knew who had written that down, who had said it over and over again…  
Megatron.  
And while he found himself actually pondering Tarn’s words, they only reminded him of how much his conversational partner was still a hardline Decepticon, a fanatic.

::A little tasteless to quote your cherished Megatron like this, don’t you think? Ah, wait, no - you are probably quite happy with the way the conversation turned into a direction where you could quote him. Let me tell you one thing - I’m not interested in fanaticism. It’s repulsive to me on an entirely personal level. Perhaps you find yourself another conversational partner to crave for.::

He was annoyed and angry about his now ruined comfort, angry that Tarn had said that and hence reminded him who he was, angry about himself having let it get this far...

::Ah doctor, there is no need for such a brash interruption of our free time together.:: Tarn felt a dual emotion well up in his core. Anger, that Megatron’s inspirational words had been dismissed as fanaticism. Irritation, at the impending cut in their conversation. But if Pharma wanted to play with unpleasantries. he had nothing on Tarn. He pondered whether or not he wanted to allow the medic rest or if he should unsettle him with information of a particular medic on the List.

::Perhaps we should keep our conversation on the topic of arts that have no impact on politics?:: he didn’t quite mean to sound...apologetic.

Was that an apologetic tone in Tarn’s transmission?  
Pharma was surprised that the tankformer could even express such an emotion, let alone through these means of communication!  
He found himself a little too appeased, Tarn had just quoted Megatron and it had seemed as if he had set everything up just so he could do that. Pharma had noticed the almost dreamy pleasure in the way he transmitted the quote and wondered, if the rumours were true.

He’d always thought the rumour had come up only to spite Megatron and make fun of the scariest group of Decepticons you could find. To alleviate their terror a little…  
But hearing Tarn now… Perhaps it was not that far fetched.  
Perhaps Tarn really did consider it a reward to be allowed to pleasure Megatron in every way possible.  
Not that Pharma would ever dare to mention such a thing, no, Tarn would probably cut the transmission and come here personally to deal with his punishment.

In any case, Tarn had offered an alternative and even sounded apologetic and Pharma was strangely appeased by it, so he sent,

::I’d relish that. Have you heard what they say about Aldebaraan’s paintings? That they have resurfaced on the black market? I’ve had the pleasure to see his ‘Iaconian Nightmare’ in one of the exhibitions he personally did, before his death. Truly an inspiring mech, I must say.::

Aldebaraan had been a famous artist from Kaon, starting out with street art and after he had been discovered by the Cybertronian high society, he and his works had been the cherry on top on every event.

That he, even after his remodeling, had still a warbuild spark, most high society mecha seemed to like to forget easily as well as the fact that his most famous work, the Iaconian Nightmare did not portray any bot holding a speech to a massive audience that had been drawn with utmost detail, it portrayed Megatron himself.

The painting was absolutely stunning though so no one ever talked about it and during the war, where most bots would know Megatron as a warlord and not as a revolutionary leader, it had been forgotten, mostly.

Pharma however, had not. And that was precisely why he wanted to hear Tarn’s opinion about it.

::Resurfaced you say?:: Well, something had just moved to the top of Tarn’s list. A beautiful, famous piece of art featuring Megatron? It practically screamed for him to own it.

::Aldebaraan was a visionary...a true master with a laser and brush alike. And his paintings...even your pretentious upper caste couldn’t deny his genius. Iaconian Nightmare in particular is...well it would be well suited to be part of my collection. I will track it down, thank you for bringing it to my attention doctor. As a reward, you may come see it once it is in my possession.::  
Pharma could tell by his own smug smile spreading on his faceplates that he indeed had wanted exactly this to be the outcome.  
He was quick to push the notion away - no, he was not going to see Tarn’s art collection and he should be angry that Decepticon filth would get his servos on art like this…

But then again, if he considered the black market and what he had heard and seen of it, it was probably better if Aldebaraan’s works ended up in Tarn’s possession who would, and Pharma was convinced of that for some reason, at least treat them with the necessary respect.

And if it meant he would get a glimpse at them sometimes....

::And here I thought you were aware of such things::, Pharma sent, almost a teasing tone to his transmission.

::A bot can’t be everywhere at once, dear doctor.:: Although Tarn would most certainly scramble the entire black market to unearth this piece of art. Perhaps, Megatron would even like to possess it himself...It could be a gift to his leader. Tarn’s engine revved so loud it echoed around his cabin.

::Just thinking about it has seemed to have had an effect on me. I truly would cherish any piece of Aldebaraan’s collection, but the Nightmare...it would be my crown jewel.::

::I figured as much::, Pharma teased, grinning to himself, thoroughly enjoying the conversation again. Smugly, he curled more into his sheets,  
::I’ve heard your lord and master doesn’t like much to be portrayed - however, he accepts statues of himself if it helps his followers to be more loyal. What do you think about this? Should he be portrayed at all? If so, subtly like the Nightmare does? Or openly like other works do?::

::The Nightmare is the perfect example and one I would return to if this topic ever cropped up in any of my conversations. Sadly, it does not.:: Tarn had to relish for a long moment that he could freely talk about his lord and master and his incredible skill at handling being a figure of extreme admiration.

::Whilst I agree with the sentiment that my lord should be honored where possible, lord Megatron truly does not wish to be deified. I believe the representation that shows the very core of what he stands for, what he truly intended, a revolution, those are acceptable dedications to his likeness. Lord Megatron’s very essence could never be encapsulated even by a great artist, but Aldebaraan came very close to the spirit of the original revolutionary ideal.::

Tarn tried not sound as if he was gushing lubricants as he spoke of Megatron.

::I see::, Pharma replied and wondered for a moment, how much all of this was affecting Tarn if he considered his earlier musings about the DJD leader’s personal relationship to his master.  
::While, clearly, I disagree with the whole necessity of the revolution, I can still see the beauty in loyal followers using the very best of their talents to support their leader; art, since it is undying, being one of the most wonderful ways of doing it. Most of Aldebaraan’s admirers were quick to forget about his heritage and inspiration, but to truly enjoy his art, you have to take it into account. And for the sake of art, I did and will continue to do so. Like we already successfully established, it is not a matter of political opinion, but rather an appreciation of fascinating art and a genius artist.::

Somehow, his processor found it fitting then to supply him with the image of a heavily aroused Tarn with Megatron’s impressive shadow looming over him. Pharma’s engine stuttered and he quickly deleted the impression.

Tarn didn’t know what he appreciated more; Pharma’s beautiful opinion that matched his own regarding the importance and independence of art or the fact that he willingly admitted to Megatron’s appeal in an entirely unpolitical way. Or at least, that was how Tarn had understood the medic and he was not inclined to think it over.

He gave the softest of groans as he adjusted himself, fingers circling over an interface panel already exposed. Probably around the time they began mentioning the Nightmare.

::I couldn’t agree more, dear doctor. Art should be viewed as timeless content, something that stands beyond factions and is merely and extraordinarily a mirror to behold Cybertronian history through. How else would we remember the golden Age, if not for Starburst’s magnificent words? How would we remember the beginnings of the Great War, if not for Aldebaraan’s masterful paint strokes to capture their essence? How would we ever experience the true essence of everything beautiful in life if it weren’t for musical bots as Steel Chime, to preserve the emotions of generations?::

::Well said::, Pharma found himself agreeing thoroughly, ::I would even go far enough to change viewpoints in order to look at our political leaders from an entire artistic point of view. Isn’t it art too, the way they hold themselves with confidence, aren’t their processors those of poets when they compose their speeches and aren’t their voices like those of singers when they enrapture us with their words alone?::

Tarn never thought any other bot could put what he felt when he heard and saw his lord into words. Pharma too had a way with his voice and words and though it probably never exploded or ended a spark, it was certainly doing something physical to Tarn.

He didn’t know when he had snapped back even his valve cover, fingers circling his spike and valve and indulging in neither but needing both addressed nonetheless.

Pharma was cruelty incarnate with his voice and choice of words.

::There is something to be said for that, doctor. Great leaders are definitely great artists; they inspire. They encapsulate. They consume their audience alive until the very spark of them sings with joy at their sight.:: His transmission was far more breathy and far less focused, elements of his arousal bleeding over the comm link. Tarn did not care. He wanted to hear more.

::And isn’t that the beauty of it? When we look at art, when we listen to music, when we read or hear a masterpiece of literature - do we not all strive to be consumed by our own lust for the artistic?::  
Pharma was suddenly very aware of the fact that the pleasure coming from Tarn was in fact real and the DJD leader did indulge in this a little more than he had thought.  
Given what he transmitted though, he was too far gone to care much and Pharma too enthralled with the situation to stop,

::At its very core, art in all its forms is what every bot yearns for. Even for the most militaristic soldier, for him too, there is art in his leader’s voice. It helps us to completion, without a doubt. Am I not right, Tarn?::  
Pharma positively purred the last question and especially the tankformer’s name. Pleasant little tingles ran down his frame, the heat coming from Tarn definitely doing something for him, even if Pharma’s view of art was less emotional and more analytical.

It was hitting the right mixture for Tarn’s intellect balanced with his base, primal needs. Pharma had found the perfect notes too and Tarn offlined his optics, concentrating only on his conversational partner who was turning out to be more of a delight than he’d ever hoped.

::I am inclined to agree, dear doctor. Art is to be found in everything. In war, in death. There is savage beauty in destruction, just as there is quiet poetry in the dying and wounded. Even you, dear doctor. You’re a symphony of conflict, and yet you play a beautiful melody in the woven masterpiece of war.::

::You flatter me::, Pharma purred, ::And I am inclined to accept your compliments, since they are truly of artistic nature. And here I thought you'd be as depraved in conversation as you are on the field, Tarn. Truly, I seem to be mistaken.::

Tarn laughed softly at that.

::Theory-crafting, doctor? You have not seen me in the field. And pray that you never do. I doubt you’d be capable of so pleasant a conversation with me as you are having now. But why don’t I give you a little **more** to think about?:: Smooth, silken, molten power curled around Pharma’s spark.

Pharma’s next transmission was full of static arousal as an overload hit him out of nowhere, Tarn’s voice tugging at his spark with the most unexpected, pleasurable twist to it that Pharma had ever experienced.

The poor doctor whined into his berth, his hand helplessly trying to hold his interfacing panel closed.  
When he got to his senses again, the first thing he sent was some noise of disgust, followed by some incoherent muttering about the mess he’d just created.

::You do that to a lot of people? Call them and talk them into overload?:: he wanted to know as he quickly got up to clean himself up, hand still awkwardly over his panels, trying to keep himself from dripping all over the floor.

::My, my doctor. It seems we’re both a little lonely after all. That was indeed a riveting conversation.::

Pharma came to his senses shortly after, realizing what a mess he was. With the realization came the memory and with that, pure disgust. He felt nauseous for what he had just done, but there was no way Tarn would ever let this slip.

Truly, the spiral went down and down and down only further, with no end to his torment at the cruel hands of the DJD leader in sight.

Primus preserve his spark from this madness.

But then again, Primus had never done Pharma any favours before. Why should he start now?

The comm line was gone and disconcerting silence enfolded Pharma into an uneasy recharge.


End file.
